


Five Times They Almost Kissed

by TheLynx



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dragon Age Kink Meme, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-30
Updated: 2015-06-30
Packaged: 2018-04-06 22:39:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4239309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLynx/pseuds/TheLynx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And one time they did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times They Almost Kissed

Varric liked to think he knew how people worked. It came with the territory, being part of the Merchants’ Guild and all—either you had something people wanted or you figured out exactly how to pull strings. It was a lot like politics, he mused, and that was one of the reasons he stayed out of that. He left that business to those who cared about it. (After meeting Vivienne, he was much more thankful that he hadn’t followed that line of work.)

He thought he had Lavellan all figured out. The elf was stressed but kept a cool head, and had the perfect leadership skills for the Inquisition; something to do with his role as a mage in his clan. He got along well with all of his advisors and companions, even Vivienne and Cullen, despite any friction between them. He was a powerful mage and incredibly interested in expanding his magical knowledge, leading to many late-night conversations with Solas and Dorian after the day was done.

It didn’t take a Ben-Hassrath agent to tell that Lavellan was falling hard for the Tevinter. The way he looked at and spoke to him—well, it was Hawke and Fenris all over again.

But Lavellan, while not quite being a man of action, tended to be direct. He didn’t let things sit and stew. So why hadn’t he made his move yet?

Varric intended to find out.

* * *

 

He could see the two mages chatting over a table in Dorian’s corner of the library if he leaned over the bars of the rookery. One of their normal evenings, trying to figure out theories or argue over schools of magic. It was good to see them happy for once; Maker knew they had too much stress on their shoulders lately.

“Varric,” Leliana said sweetly from behind him. He turned to see her shuffling a few papers. “Do tell me how you’ve been affording your fine whiskey.”

“A dwarf never shares his secrets,” he said, crossing an x over his heart with his fingers.

“Those ‘secrets’ wouldn’t happen to be coming from the funds we’ve afforded for Inquisition banners, would they?”

“I still receive royalties from my publishers.”

She hummed, the edge of her lips quirking up. “Shall I start taking a closer look at these funds?”

He raised his hands in defeat. “No need, I’ll stop skimming,” he promised, not wanting to cross her. He’d only been taking from the banner funds because he thought they were hideous anyway.

He turned back to look over the railing, scratching one of the ravens on the chin, and grinned widely. Whatever was going on, Dorian had gotten Lavellan to laugh til he was red in the face, smiling from ear to ear. The human himself was trying to hide a smile.

Lavellan’s laughs subsided and he reached one hand across the table to grab Dorian’s, stroking his thumb across the back, and the human looked pleasantly surprised. A couple more words between them, then Dorian leaned in and—

—and Lavellan leaned back, expression cooling to one of mild anxiety. He made some sort of excuse, standing up and gathering a couple books in his arms as he left, leaving Dorian with a confused expression on his face.

That was an interesting development.

* * *

 

“I can’t believe it,” Dorian said, wiping blood off his brow. “It’s—it’s dead. We killed a dragon.”

“Fucking amazing!” Iron Bull yelled, clapping the mage on the back. “She was incredible!”

“I could do without fighting another dragon,” Varric said, shaking his wrist in front of him. The edges of his coat sleeve had been singed off, leaving the ends of it black and frail. Solas had fixed the worst of the burn in the middle of the fight, but his hand was still tender and now gloveless. “Lavellan, mind not bringing me along next time?”

“It’s not like we planned on this,” he mumbled, but he was grinning from the leftover adrenaline from the fight. “I’ll be sure not to invite you next time we’re ambushed by a dragon, though. Dorian, stop smearing your forehead with blood.” He removed Dorian’s hand from his forehead, replacing it with his own as he began to seal the wound with a spell.

Solas tapped Varric’s shoulder gently. “Your hand?”

The dwarf tilted his head Bull’s way. “Not gonna deal with his injuries first? He might be big, but those are some nasty gashes.”

“Not until he calms down,” he said with a chuckle. “Even I cannot heal a patient who won’t stop moving.”

“Right.” Varric nodded, holding his hand up for Solas to properly heal.

He watched Iron Bull give a whoop and start examining the body, barely able to stand without bouncing on his toes and unable to stay in one spot for more than a minute. Apparently he had a lot of energy to work off.

Dorian and Lavellan, on the other hand, didn’t. Their wounds were minor and could be dealt with by just applying bandages, excepting the one on Dorian’s forehead that had just been sealed. Instead they stood close together, talking with their faces almost touching as Lavellan wiped blood off of the human with a cloth, grimacing as he gave a quick wipe to the man’s upper lip, completely messing up his mustache.

Dorian leaned in—less aggressively than a couple weeks ago in the library—and Lavellan shook his head, holding up a hand. Instead, the elf stood on his toes and ever-so-lightly brushed his lips against Dorian’s forehead where the cut had been, earning him a raised eyebrow and light blush from the other mage.

Solas _tsked_ beside him.

“Not happy for those two, Chuckles?” Varric asked. “Or just jealous?”

Solas looked at him in amusement, shaking his hands as he finished healing the dwarf’s hand. It was tender, but much better than earlier. “If you’re talking about Bull and the dragon, no, I’m rather not happy for them. I’d rather he stop caressing the creature’s horns.”

“…Oh.”

“As for the Inquisitor and Dorian, it is none of my concern.” He shrugged. “I would say we have more important things to worry about, but so long as neither of them becomes too distracted, I have no problems.”

“Well,” Varric said, patting the mage on the back, “I’ll leave you to take care of Tiny’s wounds.”

Solas grimaced at that, but nodded, since Lavellan and Dorian seemed intent on conversing and ignoring the world for the moment and therefore happy to let Bull bleed out.

* * *

 

At least some of Varric’s instincts were correct when it came to Lavellan.

They were in the Emerald Graves, dealing with rifts and Freemen and whatever else was trying to kill them that week, and the Inquisitor wanted to break for a picnic. Not the “shove food in your mouth and go” that they’d been doing lately; an actual picnic involving sitting down for a few hours.

Maybe it was just a ploy to spend time with Dorian—considering the two sat next to each other on the grass, sharing a plate of food a short distance away from the others—but Varric wasn’t complaining. He had already finished his food and now dealt cards on a blanket. He’d considered breaking out the drinks, but decided against it. Drinks could come out when Dorian wasn’t around, since the mage was trying to kick the habit.

Out of the corner of his eye he watched the two lay back in the grass, fingers tangled together with a sigh. If they could still find some comfort in all this shit, they were doing something right.

“Come on, then, we playing or what?” Sera said, waving a hand in front of his face. “No need to stare at those two.”

“Alright, alright, calm down,” he said, dealing the last of the cards and shuffling the remainder of the deck again.

“So you were staring,” Cassandra said, checking her cards and making a face.

“No, but you need to work on your poker face.”

Cole frowned at the couple on the grass, fidgeting with the cards in his hands. “It’s wrong,” he murmured. Only Varric and Sera could hear his words, since he was between the two. “He doesn’t like it. Why doesn’t he just tell him it feels wrong?”

Varric didn’t know what was wrong—would Lavellan’s clan frown on him being with a man or a human?—but bit his tongue. He didn’t need to pry. “You let them sort it out, kid. For now, let’s play cards.”

Dorian joined them soon after as Lavellan walked off. He’d attempted to kiss the other man’s hand, but been gently pushed back with a shake of the head, and Lavellan had gone off on his own. “Deal me in, Varric,” he said.

Cole gave Varric a pained look, but the dwarf shook his head at him. If they had problems, they just had to talk it out themselves.

* * *

 

The attack on Adamant would happen soon, and none of them were pleased about it. Going up against a bunch of Grey Wardens would be vicious. And if that dragon showed up…

“Andraste guide us,” Varric said, looking at the fortress a few miles away, clearly visible across the sand from the Inquisition army’s camp. A few rifts still lay between them and Adamant, but they would close them on their way, as they had been doing so far.

“At least we’re finally here,” Dorian supplied, voice filled with fake cheer. “I was beginning to wonder if this sand would ever end.”

Lavellan took the human’s hand in his own, standing between him and Varric. “We’re going to need a lot more than Andraste and Mythal tomorrow.”

“Have some confidence, Inquisitor,” Varric said. “You’ve faced down Corypheus’ armies before. You can do it again.”

He snorted. “Look how that turned out. Haven buried, and I almost died.”

Dorian gripped his hand tighter. “This time will end better,” he said with conviction, startlingly serious. “We will get through this alive.”

He raised his other hand to stroke Lavellan’s cheek, but the elf removed it. “Ma nuvenin, ma vhenan.”

Lavellan turned from him, letting go of his hand and walking towards one of the campfires, leaving Dorian looking almost heartbroken. He schooled his expression quickly enough. “Have a good night, Varric,” he said softly with a respectful tilt of his head.

The dwarf shook his head. Whatever this was, it was worse than his romance novels.

* * *

 

An hour before heading to the ball at the Winter Palace, it finally clicked.

Everyone was getting ready, rushing to and fro between the fancy inn rooms they’d paid for and no doubt irritating guests in the lobby, where they’d stationed a tailor for any last-minute emergencies. Josephine had spent the past few hours educating Lavellan (and to some extent, Varric, when he would listen) about nobles to woo and to avoid, how to hold silverware, when to kiss someone’s hand, and so on.

It was a wonder she didn’t break down in the middle of it all—she was practically vibrating with excitement and nerves.

Lavellan and Dorian shared a moment in the middle of the hustle, talking quietly together in a corner of the lobby as they snacked before the ball. As he expected they would. They might have to spend most of the time separated from each other, anyway, to avoid even more rumors spreading about them. Both were dressed spectacularly, and Dorian's birthright glimmered brightly against his chest  

Dorian lifted a hand, palm raised upwards, and asked a question.

Lavellan shook his head with a glance down towards Dorian’s lips. He said something in response, gesturing to his hair, and left Dorian alone by the snacks.

“Rough day, Sparkler?” Varric asked, approaching the mage and the snack table. His own appetite was dulled for the moment. “I figured this would be the perfect environment for you, nobles trying to ruin each other and whatnot.”

Dorian sighed. “Varric, if you don’t mind…”

“Yes, yes, relationship troubles,” the dwarf said. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but you’re so mushy half the time it gets me down when you’re not. Even Cole wants to help. You two just have an aversion to kissing or something?”

“I… It’s something I’ve considered.”

Varric stared at him blankly. “You mean you have a relationship problem and you don’t even know what it is?”

“I haven’t asked.”

“So ask.”

The mage shook his head, looking at the ground before him. “Rather rude to ask ‘Why won’t you kiss me, esteemed Inquisitor?’ isn’t it?”

Varric frowned. “He’s kissed you before.”

“Yes, but—”

“It’s the mustache.”

Now it was Dorian’s turn to stare. “Pardon?”

Varric’s mouth slowly widened into a grin. He’d blurted out the previous sentence with his realization. “Maker’s breath,” he said with a chuckle, “it’s the mustache. He hates your mustache.”

Dorian was less amused. “I’m afraid you’ve lost me here, Varric.”

It all made sense. When cleaning the blood off his face, Lavellan had spent only a second on Dorian’s mustache. When Cole talked about how something was wrong, that wasn’t the relationship—it was the mustache that he didn’t like. And the glance at Dorian’s lips…

“Trust me on this, Sparkler. Ditch the mustache.”

“How much are you betting on this?”

“Nothing! I swear!” Varric held up his hands in front of himself defensively. “Just shave it, alright? And the bit beneath. If I’m wrong, you can get me for it later.”

Dorian rubbed his chin, considering. “There’s hardly any time before we leave…”

“Shouldn’t take too long.”

Dorian met his eyes. “This better be worth it.”

* * *

 

Dorian arrived at the ball fashionably late. Lavellan didn’t so much as glance at him until they were in the ballroom, and didn’t seem to notice his freshly shaven face until he wandered out to the gardens to escape the nobles clamoring for his attention (of which there were few enough, with many more intimidated by or dismissive of him).

The night was a mess. Beyond a mess. A massacre? A dead empress? A mysterious mage appointed to return to Skyhold with them? Varric would’ve preferred to be back in Kirkwall right then.

When he met Iron Bull by the refreshments to have one more glass of champagne, the qunari subtly tilted his head to indicate the window beside them.

Outside, Varric could see Dorian and Lavellan dancing slowly to the music, looking far more relaxed and tired in the moonlight than they had earlier.

“So you finally told him,” Bull said quietly.

Varric blinked at him. “How long have you known?”

“Couple months. You think they would’ve talked about it or something.”

The dwarf shrugged. “People don’t always do what they should. Why didn’t you tell them?”

“I was waiting for them to talk about it. Or for Cole to blurt it out, like he does with everything else.”

“I suppose that’s reasonable.”

Varric looked back outside at the couple, then pulled the curtains closed to give them some privacy, watching Lavellan lean up to give Dorian a kiss on the lips before he did so.

“It’s about time,” he muttered, unusually pleased with himself. Bull gave a grunt of agreement from beside him. “So, you up for a game of Wicked Grace?”

**Author's Note:**

> Kink meme fill. Prompt can be found [here](http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/13890.html?thread=56303938#t56303938).


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